


Transitions

by talmaa



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, POV Alternating, Rickyl, Romance, Smut, season five
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:00:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25970968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talmaa/pseuds/talmaa
Summary: They’re best friends, indispensable as the air to one another, and they love each other even if they’d never said the words, it’s just there and they know it and that’s that. What of it? They love their family. No biggie. Ain’t different.And they’re thinking...So why’s everyone looking at them all funny?And one of them is thinking...How would you know when you’re in love?And the other one is thinking...I can’t be in love! Can I?***Time: On the road after prison/terminus/Grady Memorial; otherwise unspecified. Hershel didn’t die, and they got Beth back alive.Updates: three times a week.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes
Comments: 97
Kudos: 194





	1. Episodes 1 & 2

**Author's Note:**

> This is an episodic fic. Every episode has a name and there’s always a gap in time between them. The length of the gap is unspecified (because it’s irrelevant) -- from a few days to a few weeks.
> 
> Fluff alert!!!! The boys need some fluff in their lives -- and so do we all. Frickin’ 2020 is starting to get on my nerves…

*** * * * * * THE RABBIT’S FOOT * * * * * ***

“You ready?” 

Rick was checking that he’d remembered to pack a bottle of water, and didn’t even look at his supply run buddy as the question came out of his mouth.

“Mmhm.” Daryl tossed his bag on the back seat. “Wanna drive?”

Rick shrugged but sat behind the wheel. He liked to drive but then, so did Daryl. 

They’d take turns. 

Daryl shut the door and settled the crossbow on his lap.

“You take the map?” he asked, like an afterthought, not really expecting a negative.

A heartbeat of silence.

“Goddamnit,” Rick huffed, and got out of the car. Of course he’d forgotten to take it after they’d finished planning today’s route.

The archer’s quiet chuckle followed him back to the house.

He strolled to the kitchen. Yes, the map was still there, folded, half-hidden under the guns Carol had put on the dinner table and was starting to clean. Rick pulled the map away and crammed it in his breast pocket. Might as well take another bottle of water while he was here. There was no such thing as too much water on a run. 

Carol hummed as she picked up a gun and started working on it.

“Shouldn’t you be going?”

“Mmmhm.” Rick walked over to the kitchen counter and took a bottle. They’d filled a dozen of them from the well so they wouldn’t need to run there every time someone wanted to take a sip. As he turned back, his eyes hit on a small item under the table.

Daryl’s rabbit foot. Rick smiled, crouched, and crawled to pick it up. Carol’s amused voice got him by surprise, and he bonked his head against the edge of the table.

“Whatever are you doing down there?”

Rick rubbed the back of his head and held out the thing for Carol to see.

“Daryl must’ve dropped it. ‘m gonna take it to him. He’ll just get cranky if he notices it’s missing when we’re miles away.” 

And he smiled to himself, thinking how inordinately attached the stoic hunter had become to the small amulet. Not that Daryl was superstitious in the least, no! It was just that Beth had made it herself a while back from the first rabbit she’d hunted on her own, as an amusing little thank you to Daryl for having taught her. And for having got her alive out of the crumbling prison. And from the hands of the Grady people. And probably for so many other things as well. 

Privately, Rick was all but certain that the young woman harbored a crush for the man. Nobody had the slightest idea if Daryl held romantic feelings towards her, or towards any of the other women in their group. Daryl didn’t let out a single vibe, and Rick wasn’t one to pry. Was hardly his business anyway. And except for Carl, they were all adults. Wasn’t his place to police people’s romantic interests unless they disturbed the well-being of them all. Daryl deserved to be happy, though, and Rick’s heart ached with hope that his closest friend would find someone to love him like he deserved to be loved.

Rick felt Carol’s eyes on him, and noticed he was still standing there, watching the small amulet on his palm. 

“But a cranky Daryl is so adorable,” Carol smirked. 

Rick’s mind was still on the amulet, on Daryl, on the fact that he had no idea what his friend felt, so he didn’t really pay attention to his answer.

“Yeah,” he muttered, “he is.” And he closed his palm on the small amulet, grabbed the water bottle he’d put on the table, and strode out. They needed to be on their way already, wasting daylight was always a very bad idea.

Carol’s gaze followed him out. Her brow was furrowed, her thoughts had wandered back onto those tracks she sometimes pursued in moments like these. 

She wondered if she was right. She thought she was.

She wondered if Rick had any idea. 

*

Rick sat down on the driver’s seat again and chucked the foot on Daryl’s lap.

“Hunh. Where did that come from?”

“You’d dropped it. It was under the kitchen table. Thought you might like to have it with you as usual.”

Daryl’s side-glance was wary.

“I ain’t superstitious, y’know.”

“Yep. I know it’s not that. Beth gave it to you.”

Daryl said nothing for a while, and Rick’s thoughts floated here and there as he drove on and kept his eyes on the road.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Rick glanced quickly at the other man, but Daryl looked straight ahead, didn’t move a muscle.

“What?”

“What ya said about Beth.”

Rick shrugged. “Nothing. Just that I know it’s special to you because you got it from her. You like her, obviously.”

Daryl chewed on that for a second.

“Sure I like her. Just not... _like_ her, y’know.”

That earned a quick, surprised look from Rick. This was the first time ever that the reticent hunter had said anything remotely related to romantic feelings.

Daryl cleared his throat, awkward and regretting ever bringing the subject up. Nothin’ doin’ now, better to get it over with.

“Thought I’d clear that up. It’s more like...she’s like a kid sister, y’know. Can’t really say that I ever wanted to have one, ‘cause… the kind of a dad me an’ Merle had… it wouldn’t’ve been good to be a girl with a dad like that.”

Rick’s fingers squeezed around the wheel a little harder. The implication in Daryl’s words...he didn’t want to dwell on it.

“But if I could have a kid sister right now, y’know, out of thin air, like magic, it would be Beth. She’s a good person.”

“She _likes_ you. Or I think she does. Just so you know…”

Rick glanced at the man again; a corner of Daryl’s mouth was quirked in a small, pensive smile.

“Yeah… nothin’ I can do about that. It’ll pass. ‘m too old for her anyways,” he chuckled. “She’ll get over it.”

Rick couldn’t quite put his finger on the reason, but somehow he felt relieved, hearing this.

Romantic relationships were always a complication in a group as small and close as theirs. One pitfall avoided, at least. 

Phew.

*** * * * * * THE SWEET MINT * * * * * ***

“Here,” Daryl said, and pushed something in Rick’s hand. 

Rick glanced at the five slightly crumpled packs of chewing gum. Sweet mint. His eyes crinkled in a smile.

“My favorite.”

“I know.” Daryl’s head twitched in a tiny almost-nod, and the hunter continued his walk towards the house carrying the heavy backpack with the spoils from his run.

The short interaction escaped everyone’s notice. Except for Maggie. She sat on the roof of the gazebo with a rifle in her hands, vigilant but bored. She wasn’t watching the men, as such, there just wasn’t much else to look at. She smiled a fond little smile. Of all the unlikely friendships… 

Rick stayed on the yard. Maggie saw him take a piece and put it in his mouth. He half-turned to look at the hunter who was ascending the porch stairs. The sound was too quiet to reach Maggie’s ears, but the body language was loud enough; Rick huffed a pleased little chuckle. 

Only then did he notice Maggie. She nodded a hello. Rick waved the packs at her.

“Want one?”

Maggie shook her head. “No thanks. They’re yours.”

For a second, Rick looked like he was going to insist. He glanced back at the house -- it was almost like a reflex -- and back at Maggie, and shrugged.

“Ok then. Just...five packs is a lot. He should’ve given some to others too.”

He wasn’t complaining. He noticed the warmth rippling in his voice, but what of it? This was what friends did. Last week, he’d brought a new shirt to Daryl. The man had grunted a thanks and looked at the garment suspiciously. Rick had joked about it, said he can rip the sleeves off if that was the problem. Daryl had snorted a laugh and muttered something that had sounded an awful lot like ‘dumbass’. 

“Maybe, maybe not. It’s not like you don’t deserve a treat every now and then, though. Daryl’s just being thoughtful.”

Another glance at the house. 

Maggie bit on her lip. Carol had said some things, a long time ago... She hadn’t thought of it much, it had seemed so...far-fetched. And she had her own shit to take care of. Dad, Beth, Glenn. But now it came back to her as she watched their leader munch on the piece of gum.

“‘s good?” she asked.

Rick grinned. “‘s my favorite.”

“Is that so?”

“Yea. Dunno how he remembered. We were still in the prison when we talked about this stuff.”

Maggie shifted, her legs were starting to get numb from all this sitting in one place. One more question.

“What’s his favorite then?”

“Strawberry Twizzlers. I remember laughing about it, felt so incongruous to think that the deadliest guy I know loves those. Jesus, he glared at me.”

Oh, maybe one more…

“Aww, that’s sweet… well, even the hard-nosed hunters need a li’l R and R. So… had you imagined it’d be something else?”

Rick laughed. “Dunno...something hard and strong-flavored maybe.” He shook his head, amused, and turned to continue his perimeter check.

Maggie lifted her head and gave the surroundings a once-over. Nothing new. Her gaze flicked back to Rick.

Nah… or could it…? 

Nah… 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update will be on Thursday.
> 
> ***  
> -The Walking Dead and its wonderful cast of characters are not mine. I just play with them for fun :)   
> -English is not my first language so apologies for any and all mistakes.


	2. Episodes 3 & 4

*** * * * * * THE TRUST * * * * * ***

Daryl chuckled. Glenn was good company. They were burrowed in a hut, waiting out a herd to pass them by at a few hundred yards’ distance. If the walkers noticed them, they’d be royally fucked, but right now it was looking pretty good. There’d been nothing to make the herd stray from its course so far, and they could already see the last of them. Another five, ten minutes, and they’d be good to go. 

They were swapping stories from the earlier times. Daryl had heard before how Glenn had met Rick for the first time, but it was a good story and Glenn told it well.  _ Hey you, dumbass, yeah, you in the tank, cozy in there? _ That was just precious. Never got old.

Glenn glossed discreetly over the part where they’d left Merle on the rooftop, and reminisced about the escape, covered in walker blood and entrails. The young man shook his head and laughed in a low voice.

“Dunno where the man gets all those crazy ideas.”

“Rick can think pretty quick on his feet,” Daryl simply said, a sudden warmth in his heart, oddly proud of his friend.

“Can I ask something?”

Daryl squinted at him. The family rarely wasted time on such old-world formalities anymore. Weird.

“Shoot.”

“Rick… how did that happen? I mean… the Merle thing an’ all… how did you guys get to be thick ‘s thieves? Lookin’ at you two these days, you’d think you’ve known each other forever. You’d think you’re… I mean, you’re just always hanging out together. I remember what it was during the first days. Seems almost a dream now, what with how you are nowadays.”

Daryl peered outside. Still a few minutes’ worth of walkers in sight.

“Dunno… like ya said, ya were there. Ya saw what he did, goin’ back for Merle. Ain’t nobody done nothin’ like that for a Dixon before. Yeah, I know he also wanted to get that bag of guns but still. I guess it started there, an’ just...grew as weeks went by.”

“What started?”

“The trust,” was Daryl’s simple answer. “I trust Rick with my life. With everything. Ain’t never had that with anyone. There’s still them days I can’t believe there’s someone I can trust like that. But I can. That’s huge. I don’t know if a normal guy like you can even get how huge that is…”

Glenn swallowed down comments on the ‘normal’. 

“What about Rick?”

Daryl snorted. He got what Glenn meant by the question.

“I could say I’ve no fuckin’ idea why Rick’s friends with me. But maybe he can trust me, too. I left him once. That’ll never happen again. I’d die for him, man. An’ he knows it.”

Glenn bit on his lip so hard he tasted blood. Jesus...did Daryl  _ hear _ himself?

*** * * * * * THE BODY LANGUAGE * * * * * ***

Beth was standing guard by an old apple tree. The younger Greene didn’t seem to hear Maggie’s footsteps, and she frowned. Wasn’t like her little sister to be so careless. She was half a dozen yards from her when Beth said, without turning her head, “Hey, sis.”

Maggie smiled. Atta girl. “So you did notice me. I was beginning to worry!”

“Mmhm.” 

Maggie lifted an eyebrow to herself as she noticed a faint tinge of pink on Beth’s cheeks. She walked to her sister’s side and, as inconspicuously as possible, scanned the surroundings, trying to figure out what had made her kid sister so lost in thought.

In the vibrant light of the summer afternoon sun, she saw the field and the sparse woods and the stream and the path where a lone man was approaching with a crossbow and a few rabbits.

Oh.

She felt Beth’s awkward gaze on her, and didn’t look back. She  _ sensed _ her sister, she knew how the pink had deepened into a bright crimson. She should be the wise older sister now, but she was at a loss. 

She cleared her throat. 

“You know… he’s old enough to be your father.” Her voice was soft. 

Beth was silent for a moment.

“That might’ve been important Before. I don’t think it is anymore.” Her eyes grew sharp and she stirred. “But I don’t think you have to worry… too young, too old -- I don’t think that’s the problem.”

Maggie followed her gaze. 

Rick had emerged from behind a small shed. His rolling gait took him along the path to meet Daryl. Maggie watched the two men exchange words. They were too far for her to hear more than a faint murmur, but she observed the body language. They seemed to be talking about Daryl’s catch, and there was nothing unusual about it, she’d seen those two conversing countless times. But this time her little sister was by her side, and the waves of Beth’s fragile feelings made Maggie look at the scene differently. Like that time a few weeks ago.

It was nothing much -- just two friends chatting. But Maggie couldn’t help but wonder how she hadn’t paid attention to the intimacy of it before, to the way those two shut out everything else.

The ease, the proximity, Rick’s hand landing on Daryl’s shoulder, the warm squeeze. And then they parted, Rick continued towards the stream and Daryl strolled home; as the hunter passed his friend, he gave the other man an affectionate pat on the stomach. A few steps later, Rick turned around and said something -- Maggie saw his grin -- and the sound of Daryl’s rare laughter reached her ears as the archer glanced over his shoulder.

The girls said nothing. Maggie didn’t know what to say. Carol’s words from a long time ago began to make sense; Glenn’s whispered recount now seemed more than just an over-interpretation. But she hadn’t talked with Carol again, she hadn’t seized Glenn’s story and demanded he elaborate. It’s not that she was above gossiping every now and then, but their life had so little privacy it was practically non-existent. They’d lived in each other’s pockets ever since they’d left the farm. The only privacy, really, arose from the tact and silence of every one of them. Don’t pry, don’t ask too much, don’t spread speculations.

So she hadn’t. She loved those two too much, had too much respect for them. Maybe there was...something. Maybe not. Wasn’t any of her business either way.

But Beth was her business. She gave her a quick glance. Beth’s eyes were still on Daryl. The man was passing by them; he nodded at them and continued his walk.

Beth’s tone wasn’t even sad. She sounded resigned somehow -- quiet, facing facts, accepting things as they were. This world didn’t encourage entertaining futile dreams, and Beth wasn’t a child anymore.

“Yeah, Maggie… age sure ain’t the issue here.”

Maggie nodded a wordless assent. She gave in to a bit of curiosity, and ran the past few years in her mind. Put a mental finger on the stash of memories and fast-forwarded everything she’d seen of Rick and Daryl talking, arguing, fighting side by side, sitting together on the long benches of the prison table, taking turns at carrying Judith on their endless walk after the Terminus -- everything. 

Well then.

Oh, she could easily come up with a dozen questions -- and not one of them would be ‘Could I be wrong about this?’.

The only question worth asking, however, was...

_ Did those two have any idea?  _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update on Saturday.


	3. Episodes 5 & 6

*** * * * * * THE LAUNDRY * * * * * ***

“Whatcha doin’?” Daryl leaned closer.

“Washing.” Sweat was trickling down Rick’s forehead and he was so not in the mood for surplus words.

“Whatcha washin’?” Apparently Daryl was going to see how far he could go to annoy Rick, the leader thought darkly as he once again wiped the sweat from his eyes. The hunter leaned in even closer and peered over Rick’s shoulder.

“Aren’t those a li’l snug for ya?”

“They’re Judith’s, as you very well know,” Rick grumbled. 

“Hunh. Beth-”

“Beth’s not feeling well, she’s got a headache, and anyway, Judith’s my kid, I can’t exactly outsource the childcare. Beth already does so much.” 

Rick knew he sounded snappish. It was just the heat, it was getting to him. In the small outhouse with buckets full of steaming water the air didn’t circulate too well, and the heat and humidity hung in the air, heavy and oppressing. He felt Daryl’s hand on his shoulder. 

“I can help.” His voice had lost its teasing lilt. The hunter fetched a second small washtub, mixed hot and cold water, settled the tub next to Rick, squatted down and picked a few tiny shirts from the pile of dirty laundry. Rick couldn’t help but smile, even though sweat and heat were just as annoying as before. For a while, there was only the slosh of water and the scrub-scrub-scrub of knuckles on cloth.

He should thank the man. Rick knew it. But instead, what came out of his mouth was, “You don’t have to do this.”

“Mmhm,” agreed the other man absent-mindedly and reached for the small bar of soap they’d found and scrubbed it on a stain on Judy’s shirt. “Yer point is…?”

“That you don’t have to do this. That’s my point.”

“So we only do things we _have_ to? Never things we _want_ to?”

“You want to wash clothes?”

“Don’t be daft, Rick, it’s not a good look on ya. No, of course I don’t want to wash clothes. I fuckin’ hate washing clothes. Didn’t like it even Before, an’ we had a machine for the job back then, for fuck’s sake. Is it really that hard to get that I want to _help_?”

Maybe the heat was getting to Daryl, too. His bangs clung to his forehead and he didn’t even glance at Rick as he took another piece of clothing from the pile. He seemed to feel Rick’s eyes on him, and finally peeked at him. He noticed Rick’s smile and let a corner of his mouth turn up ever so slightly. 

Rick bumped him with his shoulder.

“Thanks man,” and the heat made his voice melt a little.

Daryl shrugged. “It’s Judy, y’know…”

“Your li’l asskicker,” Rick said with a wide smile.

“Nah, she’s all yours,” huffed Daryl and flashed a quick grin.

“No, yours too,” Rick said, his voice suddenly quiet and serious. “Daryl… even if I thanked you every day for the rest of my life, it still wouldn’t be enough. What you did back then...how you took over, kept everyone safe, watched over Judith…”

Daryl looked away, awkward, and went on with the scrubbing. “Don’t. It’s like I said...that’s what we do. You know I’d do anything.”

Rick bumped again. Daryl glanced at him, snorted, bumped back. 

“Too hot to be so serious,” said Rick, wrung water off the tiny shirt and leaned over the tub to place it on the stool. The shirt slipped from his fingers, though, and splashed in Daryl’s tub.

“Fuck!” The hunter brushed soap suds from his face. Rick bit his lip, tried not to laugh. Daryl glared at him.

“Ya sayin’ ya didn’t do that on purpose?” 

“I could, but wouldya believe me?” Rick chuckled. The tough hunter was so frickin’ endearing with the wet bangs and the suds clingling from his short beard. Rick was brushing them off before he even knew he was going to do it. Daryl held himself completely still, and in the low evening light seeping in through the grimy windows and the small open door, Rick couldn’t really see his eyes all that clearly. Not that he was looking. He wanted to clean all of the suds off so his eyes stayed carefully on Daryl’s chin and jaw and upper lip.

When he was satisfied with his handiwork, he turned to fish the clean shirt from the tub and wrang the water off again.

“New try,” he said, and dropped the shirt on the ‘clean’ pile. He took the last two pieces -- two sets of tiny pants -- and immersed them in the water. He glanced at the hunter who hadn’t said a word in a while. Daryl was washing the shirts, his face downturned and covered by his long locks. Rick wondered if something was bothering him and was just about to ask him when he realized they weren’t alone. His head snapped to the door, one hand reflexively reaching for his Python; Daryl reacted to him and turned around, half-crouched, ready to spring into action.

Rick relaxed -- it was just Michonne and Rosita carrying some clothes. Both women were watching them with impassive expressions, shifting their weight from foot to foot like they’d been waiting for quite a while already.

“You done?” asked Michonne, her eyes flicking between the two men.

“Yeah, more or less. I’ll just rinse these real quick,” Rick said and turned to quickly rub the pants. “Daryl, you ready?”

“Yeah,” the man rumbled, wrung out the shirts, stood up and picked up the whole pile of wet clothes. Rick wrung out the pants and rose to his feet, joints cracking; he grimaced. Daryl looked at him in mock sympathy.

“Ya need help, ol’ man?”

“Fuck you, Dixon,” was Rick’s pithy answer. 

Rosita’s cool voice suggested very calmly that maybe Rick should practice being on his knees if he was gonna take up more of these sort of activities. Rick just laughed and said his knees worked very well thank you and it was just the cold stone floor that was the problem. Both men left to take the wet items on the clothesline, so they missed the look the women gave each other. They missed Michonne’s amused snort; Rosita was absolutely shameless sometimes.

They also missed the amazed question Rosita made to Michonne.

“Are these two for real?”

Michonne shook her head, dreadlocks flying around her head.

“Dunno. I mean...those two? They’re two of the cleverest, most vigilant men I know. Just goes to show that...I don’t even know what the fuck it goes to show. That you can be the best hunter there is, and still not recognize the traces under your own nose? That you can lead a group of people through all sorts of disasters but you can’t find your own way?” She shook her head again. “Dunno, those two… just wanna bang their stupid heads together.” 

*** * * * * * THE GAME * * * * * ***

After the meal, Maggie went all _Maggie_. 

“I wanna play something!”

Truth or Dare received the noisiest support. _Good Lord._ Daryl rolled his eyes. He was leaning on the wall; he reckoned if he didn’t sit with the others, they’d forget he was even there. Truth or Dare, for fuck’s sake…

Rick noticed his long-suffering expression and grinned. He scrambled up from the floor where he’d been sitting cross-legged, and went to join his friend. He leaned on the wall as well, close enough that he could whisper in Daryl’s ear.

“You ain’t afraid of a game, hunh?”

Daryl poked him with his elbow straight to his ribs. “Ain’t afraid of shit. It’s just silly, though.”

“We can handle a little silliness. We’re tough guys.” And to confirm their toughness, Rick sank his fingers in Daryl’s side. 

Fuck, everybody turned to look at them. He shouldn’t have squealed like that. Now _that_ had been silly.

“Kids, behave.” Carol’s solemn voice.

The game started and went on for a good while without anyone paying any attention to Rick and Daryl, still leaning on the wall, commenting on the game in whispers. Fuck if Daryl was gonna attract attention to them any more he’d already done.

Michonne’s calm voice called out his name. What the fuck, lady?!

“Daryl, truth or dare?”

He didn’t want to end up hopping on one leg imitating a chicken, so the choice was easy. “Truth.”

She grinned. “Ok, this is your first so I’ll go easy on you. Who’s your best friend?”

Daryl was baffled. They really had to ask? 

“Ya really hafta ask? Rick, of course.”

Michonne nodded. And the game went on. He still had no idea why he’d been asked such a stupid question. Rick looked at him with a raised eyebrow, the same question apparent in his eyes. Daryl shrugged. Whatever.

Then came Rick’s turn, and he thought he’d play it safe as well. “Truth.”

Carol nibbled on her lower lip. “Good. Ok. I’ll go easy on you, too. If you lost all of us, who would you miss the most? Barring Carl and Judith, of course.”

Daryl didn’t get it, the strange tension in the air. The ability to sense tension had been his life insurance until the day his father had kicked the bucket. He couldn’t think of any reason for the tension now, though. He didn’t even get where it was coming from.

Anyway, the question. Rick still hadn’t answered. Daryl turned his head to look at the man. They were shoulder to shoulder, and he could see the other man so clearly, up close, the tight lines of the eyes that were just a tiny bit narrowed as they were glued on Carol. Then the man relaxed.

Rick had felt odd for a moment there. That was a strange question to ask. Carol’s gaze was expectant. Maggie, Michonne, Glenn, Abe… well, nice to know he was such a riveting person that these people waited with bated breaths. The muscles on his shoulders relaxed. He hadn’t noticed he’d been so tense. Daryl’s eyes were on him, and there was no doubt about the only possible answer. 

“I gotta say Daryl. Though that’s a weird question to ask. Obviously I’d miss all of you. You’re my family, for fuck’s sake.”

Carol smiled fondly and not a little mischievously. What a strange woman she was.

“We _know_ , Rick. This is just a game. Nobody feels bad that you chose Daryl.”

And the game went on. Nobody asked them anything for the rest of it. 

Rick still dwelled on the question. It had been a very simple question for him, after all. He knew all about how it felt to lose people. He knew all about how it felt to lose Daryl. And how it had felt to get him back, to fight by his side again, to _be_ by his side.

He shrugged to himself. Well, he got no complaints. Good thing they had asked something so simple. Stupid of them, really, to ask something they probably knew already; they could’ve asked about his most embarrassing moments or deepest secrets or greatest fears -- something ridiculous like that. He’d got off easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update on Tuesday.


	4. Episodes 7 & 8

*** * * * * * THE DANGER * * * * * ***

The men smirked, the rifles in their hands giving them all the self-confidence in the world. 

Rick was furious at himself. How had he been so lax as to not scout ahead? Rick’s people had walked right into their lap. 

Not that they were in _very_ deep shit. Abe, Rosita, Tara and Sasha had fallen behind; they should be around here in ten minutes or so. Rick and the others only had to hold on for that long. Not get killed in the meanwhile or anything. After the Governor, the Claimers, the Terminus cannibals, it would be just too ridiculous to die by the hands of half a dozen run-of-the-mill lowlives.

They had to make noise. Make sure the others would hear them and not march into the same trap.

Rick ran his gaze over his group. There wasn’t one among them who didn’t know the situation, or what they should do. The problem was _how_ to do it without being obvious about it?

Rick’s eyes paused on Daryl. The archer looked sullen and oddly naked without his crossbow. He side-glanced at Rick, bit his lip, and gave the tiniest half-nod-half-shrug imaginable. No way the strangers would’ve noticed it. Rick would’ve wagered even their family wouldn’t’ve registered the whiff of a movement.

So, Rick was prepared. Sort of.

Turned out, he wasn’t.

Turned out, the whole Claimers debacle followed by the Terminus blood-letting-trough incident had really wrecked his tolerance about shit happening to his best friend.

Daryl started to yell insults, flail his arms, curse worse than a sailor -- all in all, act like a miffed loudmouth. At first, the men were amused by his impotent mutiny -- the noisy, belligerent man had six guns on him, after all -- but as Daryl properly warmed up to his act, the insults started to be really inventive, and a few of the men began to lose their sense of humor about it.

“Shut up, you piece of shit,” one of them snarled.

The leader -- a bald, lean guy in his forties -- scowled at Daryl. “Better use that energy to haul those backpacks to our cars.”

With a booming voice, Daryl gave his opinion on the lineage of the leader’s mother.

That did it. The leader flicked his fingers to two of his men. They stepped closer, took a hold of Daryl, and the leader started hitting him. No warning, no words at all -- just a fist in his belly, another at his face, then a steady stream of cold, passionless punches to his stomach.

Beth and Maggie used the opportunity to scream -- not that they had to act or anything. One of the men put a gun to Beth’s temple, though, so they shut up pretty fast. 

Rick reckoned he should’ve been happy about this. The screams added a nice touch, and made all but sure that the others heard them. But there was a weird buzz in his head, it made thinking fuzzy and messed-up. Every time a new punch hit the archer, and the man bit down a cry of pain, it felt like someone knocked the air out of Rick’s lungs. He was lightheaded, his vision turned crimson, and he heard a voice, a snarl, a growl, a low guttural rumble that ripped its way out of him. 

The next thing he knew, two of the strangers hung onto him with all their strength, and their leader was laughing his ass off.

“Let go of him.” Rick didn’t recognize his own voice. Deep, and crackling, and there was slaughter in that sound.

“Jesus…” The leader shook his head, still laughing. He snapped his fingers, and the men holding Daryl let go, and the battered hunter dropped on his knees, trying to catch his breath, trying to surmount the pain.

The leader turned his scornful gaze back to Rick. “Well ain’t that sweet? Wasn’t a big surprise though. So goddamn cute with the two of ya. We watched you, y’know, for a while. I told ya, didn’t I,” he turned to one of the men, “I told ya those two are fuckin’, didn’t I?” The other man grinned and nodded, and spat on Daryl for good measure. The leader snickered. “Me, I got an eye for romance.”

The men cackled. The red mist was slowly thinning from Rick’s eyes; the words of the talkative stranger swirled in his mind, making no sense at all. What the fuck was the guy talking about?

The problem solved itself within the next minute -- Abe and Sasha didn’t, as a rule, miss. Ever. 

But when the dust settled, and the last of the strangers was no more, it was awfully quiet. Rick felt eyes on him, like his family were throwing stealthy looks at him. 

Why was everything so quiet?

Daryl was still on his knees, struggling to get up, still having trouble breathing, and Rick had no idea why no-one went to help him. Carol was usually the first one to hurry to her friend -- now she was among those who flicked wary side-glances at Rick.

Well, Rick sure couldn’t waste any more time wondering about the current weirdness of his family. Daryl was in pain, so first things first. Rick went to him, grabbed his arms and pulled him up. 

“You ok?” His voice was back to normal. Steady and calm. 

Daryl straightened his back and grimaced. “Man, that was one of my shittier ideas. Couldn’t come up with anything else though. Had to make noise an’ make it look real.”

Rick’s mouth curved into a small smile. “Ain’t the first time you throw yourself under the bus. A+ for acting skills. That was a pretty good ‘hysterical little shit’ you got going.”

“Me, I’m a natural.” Daryl gave an exhausted chuckle. He brushed his jaw, like swatting at a fly. “That fucker spat on me. I mean, what the hell is that about? Who _does_ that kinda thing!”

“Wait…” Rick patted his pockets. Nothing. “Where’s the rag you keep lugging with you…” Rick snatched it from Daryl’s back pocket and gave it a cursory inspection. “Hmm, cleanish. Cleaner than your grimy hands anyways, so stop fiddling with your face, you got a wound there.”

Daryl frowned as Rick carefully wiped the blood off his jaw and the spit from his cheek. “Who made ya a fuckin’ nurse?”

“Shut up, man… You took one for the team. The least I can do is clean you up.” Rick tilted his head and looked at the hunter. “There. All pretty now.”

“Pshh,” Daryl rolled his eyes. “Five minutes after mortal peril, an’ you've got the comedy act goin’.”

It was lucky the hunter didn’t seem to require an answer to that quip, because suddenly Rick was all out of words. He handed the rag back to the other man, and with some effort concentrated on what was going on around him. 

His family was making sure the strangers wouldn’t be coming back. They were collecting weapons and ammo. They were checking the cars, calculating whether there was any way humanly possible to cram their whole group to those two vehicles. 

The one thing no-one was doing, was looking at Rick and Daryl.

There was an odd swirly warmth in his belly. Almost felt nauseous. Almost felt like he was on the brink of something.

“Hey, you alright?” A familiar hand landed on his shoulder, familiar blue eyes peered at him under the long fringe. “I mean, I gotta ask… ya seemed to lose it a bit back there. Man, you’re scary when ya get all protective an’ shit.” Daryl chuckled, but for the first time in a long, long time, the archer wouldn’t hold his gaze. 

Rick was on the brink of something. Felt like he wasn’t the only one.

What the fuck was going on?

*** * * * * * THE HALF-MOON * * * * * ***

It was late. Summer was turning into fall, but the nights were still mellow. A half-moon shone from a cloudless sky; the sharp shadows it created with the trees and the bushes would’ve scared a very young Rick. But he wasn’t young anymore, and these days the world held horrors beyond unsubstantial shadows. Imagination had nothing on walkers, or on the living who were barely more human than the undead.

He’d heard the man approach.

“Hey,” he said in a low voice as the hunter sat down on the porch swing. It was a narrow little thing, not really suitable for two grown men. Perfectly passable for two friends, however.

They sat in silence for a good long while, shoulders squeezed together, the proximity warming them up. Daryl was such a furnace, Rick thought fondly.

“Ya figure we’ll be good here for another week?” Daryl finally broke the silence in his soft voice, and Rick wondered about that. They’d talked about it during the day, there was really nothing new to say, so it felt...unnecessary. Like Daryl was saying something just to say _something_ , just to break that silence. Which would be perfectly plausible with anyone else -- but not with the reticent hunter. In the normal course of events, it was hard enough to get him to talk at all.

“Probably. This is ok, as far as these places go.” Rick paused. _Fine. I’ll play along if that’s what you need._ “Why? You got other ideas?”

“Nah… just wonderin’...” 

And then Daryl went on to discuss the supply run of the previous day, and then he obviously felt the need to talk about the next day’s run, and Rick played along the whole time. _Something’s up_ , he thought, _something’s making him nervous_. He didn’t want to push -- Daryl didn’t react so good to prying.

 _What the hell is wrong with me_ , Daryl wondered at the same time. _Ain’t never had trouble keepin’ my mouth shut before. ‘s a nice night, an’ it’s kinda cozy like this, an’ I’m fuckin’ it up by yappin’ all the time. ‘s a wonder Rick’s not tellin’ me to shut it._

Rick shifted slightly as he was speculating about the future runs, and something warm touched the back of Daryl’s hand. The one that was resting on the side of his thigh, minding its own business. It took Daryl a whole of three seconds to figure out the source of that inadvertent warmth, featherlight but solid, and when he did, he didn’t know what to do. And suddenly three more seconds had passed wondering about the proper way to proceed, and then three more, and then it would’ve seemed real awkward to do anything, it would’ve seemed impolite, unreasonably weighty somehow, so Daryl did nothing. 

And only then did it occur to him to wonder why _Rick_ hadn’t done anything. 

So, they sat on that porch swing for hours, way past midnight, looking at the half-moon and the soft shadows, talking about absolutely nothing worth discussing, the backs of their hands touching, and both of them determined to not move a muscle, and just as determined to ignore the unexpected burn of that touch.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update on Thursday.


	5. Episode 9

*** * * * * * THE MOTHER HEN * * * * * ***

A vicious stream of swear words flooded out of Daryl’s mouth as he scrambled up from the ground and brushed his dirty hands on his pants.

“That was smooth,” Rick noted, wiping the walker gore off his knife. The brained dead-undead lay in a heap at his feet.

“Don’t ya start.” Daryl glared at his friend and took a few tentative steps, and winced. Rick’s gaze sharpened.

“You hurt?”

Daryl cursed under his breath. Fuck. Fuck!!!!

“Took a bad fall, ‘s all.”

“Sounds like plenty.”

Daryl scowled at him. “Don’t get all worked up about it. I can limp faster than ya can run, ol’ man.”

“Ha-ha-ha, that was _one time_ , an’ I’m tellin’ you, my boots kept slipping on that ice. You’ll never let me live that down…”

“Ya can bet your ass I won’t.” But Daryl’s tone wasn’t quite as light as he’d intended. The left knee had taken it pretty hard when he’d tripped over the tree root while he was fighting with the walker. Not to mention the ankle, god-fuckin’-damn… He gritted his teeth. Walk it off. Just walk it off.

He’d barely taken ten excruciatingly painful steps when he heard an annoyed huff and felt a firm hand on his arm.

“Stop being so frickin’ stubborn. You’re hurting. It’s just me here, you don’t need to be all heroic about this shit. I’m helping you, end of story.” And Rick maneuvered Daryl’s arm around his shoulder, gripped him by the wrist to make sure the arm stayed there -- the grumpy archer had made a few futile attempts to pull his arm back, the idiot -- and wound his arm around the hunter’s waist.

“Quit wrigglin’, man,” Rick ordered. “We need to find shelter for the night, ain’t no way we can make it back to the house at the pace we’re going.”

Daryl grumbled, but honestly, it was more just for show -- he wasn’t at his best with the helpless patient thing. He would’ve rather dropped dead than admitted out loud just how much it eased the pain to have Rick take some of the weight off his leg. 

“You’re such a frickin’ mother hen,” he muttered instead, sort of hoping his friend would read between the goddamn lines. He huffed and pulled his hand back a little and settled it obediently on Rick’s shoulder; after a second’s hesitation Rick let go off the wrist.

“You’re welcome.” There was a smile in Rick’s voice. He’d had plenty of time to get real familiar with the Dixon-speak. Impulsively, he squeezed Daryl’s waist just a bit tighter for a few seconds, in a kind of a half-hug.

He was surprised by the squeeze he got in return. For a brief moment, Daryl’s fingers curled more firmly around Rick’s shoulder. Rick gave him a furtive side-glance; the hunter’s gaze didn’t waver, it was fixed on the path they were following.

Rick wondered if he’d imagined the tiny incident.

*

The small house they found had probably been abandoned even before the walkers took over, and the subsequent years hadn’t done it any favors. However, they had nothing to complain about. It provided them with a roof over their heads, four walls, and mostly intact windows, and a gas fireplace which -- miracle of miracles! -- still had a little juice in it. Nights had started to get colder lately, so they duly appreciated the modest amount of warmth the fireplace gave them. 

Rick had lowered Daryl on one of the chairs that could still hold someone’s weight, and scowled at him. 

“Sit. Do not move. I’ll see about that fireplace.”

“You’re bossy for a boss.”

Rick snorted. “Good to know you’re not dying at least. You still got the snark.”

The fire warmed them up -- the heat would trickle out through the cracked windows but if they sat close enough to the fireplace, it wouldn’t be too bad. Rick kneeled before his friend.

“Let’s have a look at the damage.” He rummaged in his backpack for a bottle of water and bandages. These past few years, they’d learned the hard way to never leave anywhere without clean water and something to wrap over wounds, sprained ankles, twisted wrists.

“Show me your hands,” he ordered.

“What the fuck…?”

“Don’t be an ass, Daryl. We can’t afford dirty scratches. We really don’t need infections.”

Grumbling, the hunter held out his hands. “I can wash my own hands.”

“Sure you can. But it’s not like I got anything better to do. Besides, I gotta live up to the mother hen thingy.”

Wordlessly, Daryl watched him wipe the grimy hands clean and pay extra attention to the few deeper scratches. He was oddly conscious of Rick’s warm hand holding his, of the small burrow between Rick’s eyebrows as the leader concentrated on taking care of him. Finally, Rick seemed to be satisfied with his work, looked up, and smiled.

There was probably something wrong with the air, or maybe he’d knocked himself harder than he thought. Breathing felt funny. Too hard somehow. 

He was wondering whether he should tell Rick about it -- maybe there was a problem with the fireplace -- but then Rick started untying the hunter’s boot, and Daryl forgot to breathe entirely.

“The fuck man..?” he blurted.

Rick rolled his eyes. “Sometimes, I swear, Dixon… You don’t want me to be a mother hen, you quit bein’ a big baby, alright? We’ll check your ankle, I’ll wrap it nice an’ tidy. We can’t stay here for long, we gotta try gettin’ home tomorrow. Won’t be fun even with a bandaged ankle but maybe it helps some.”

Rick took off the boot and the sock and ran his fingers over Daryl’s swollen ankle. Gently, he moved it around, and kept glancing at Daryl to see if the hunter reacted. Daryl would’ve wanted to be all stoic but goddamn it hurt…

“Not broken, so there’s that,” Rick finally said, lowered Daryl’s foot in his lap and started to wrap the bandage. Daryl’s gaze followed Rick’s long fingers and registered how cautiously the man was putting on the bandage. His mouth was dry. The fuckin’ fireplace was suckin’ out all the air. He cleared his throat.

“I ain’t made of glass, ya don’t hafta be so…” Suddenly he didn’t know what word to use. He’d been about to say ‘gentle’ but that would’ve sounded weird.

Rick didn’t say anything for a few heartbeats. His hands moved slowly and steadily and his eyes stayed on Daryl’s ankle.

The leader was stuck, without words. He’d almost answered ‘don’t wanna hurt you’ but… 

There was a tremor in his mind -- like his thoughts were stuttering, his train of thought hitting a bumpy patch on a worn railroad track.

So Rick tried to think of another way to say exactly the same thing. He had trouble getting why his first instinct had immediately felt…well, not _wrong_ , but…

Again, he couldn’t get further than the ‘but’. 

Ok. He’d have to say _something_ , this was getting weird. Daryl was still waiting; Rick could feel his gaze.

He’d take the normal Grimes vs. Dixon approach. Why he hadn’t thought of it first was a goddamn mystery.

“What, you _want_ to be in agony? That walk wasn’t enough for you? Well, I aim to please, of course…” As he still didn’t want to _actually_ hurt his friend, he settled on pinching him on his calf, and heard a satisfactory chuckle in response. So, that had been a good choice.

Now he glanced up, and his train of thought wobbled on the tracks. Jesus… was he coming down with something? Sure, the flames painted everything red and gold, and the shimmer was real pretty, but still… wasn’t exactly routine for him to get struck by his best friend’s face and hear himself think

_jesus christ he’s beautiful_

He looked down again, continued with the wrapping. What the everloving fuck? 

Daryl knew something was off. It had taken an awful lot of time for Rick to say anything. The pinch had been normal -- the way he hadn’t taken his fingers off his calf hadn’t. And the way Rick had looked at him, like he’d seen a ghost or something…

Something was off, and Daryl was reluctant to think further. It was like something was dragging him, kicking and screaming, to a door that wasn’t just locked tight, it was boarded up, painted over, magicked into non-existence. It had been not-there for… well. Months. A year. More than a year. And Daryl _so_ didn’t want to even acknowledge its existence. 

To say that ‘nothing good would come of it’ would be an understatement.

Rick cleared his throat. “There, that should help some. Don’t know what to do to the knee, though. Maybe an overnight rest will help enough.”

He stood up. “I’ll just check the windows. We don’t need no walker surprises. Stay put.”

Rick didn’t like the silence he got as a response. He felt jolted to the core, and it wasn’t just that one word that had done it. Something had been off for a long time now. He’d first noticed it when those men had tried to rob them, probably kill them, too. Sometimes he still heard the leader’s sneery voice talking about… well.

He knew he had this...pattern. A bad habit. A _terrible_ habit of pushing aside things he felt were too uncomfortable to really think about. Things that would be a swarm of maggots, roaming and destroying and eating away all the unnecessary matter until only the unpleasant core remained.

He knew he’d stumbled on this several times already -- a few times during After, as well. He’d knowingly shut his eyes from the essence of Shane. He’d only side-glanced at the havoc Lori had wreaked with her poisonous tongue. Oh, there’d been other cases...he was all too ready to _wish_ things to be what he wanted them to be. How he’d ever been a successful deputy was a small miracle. Maybe he’d put all his cynicism and brutal pragmatism in his work. It was the same now -- he wasn’t too bad at seeing the harsh operative realities as they were. What he sucked at, royally, was seeing people closest to him as they were. And that included himself.

Rick walked from room to room, checked the windows and doors, and knew he was refusing to see some things. He’d been pushing away a can of worms, declining to even admit there _was_ a can in the first place. To be fair, he hadn’t realized there was anything to decline until the sneery leader had clonked the can on his head, figuratively speaking. Even after, he’d done a pretty good job not thinking about it.

Nothing good would come out of letting himself see that fuckin’ can.

Because he wasn’t… and Daryl most surely wasn’t… So they wouldn’t, and couldn’t, which meant he shouldn’t. He hadn’t had a friend like Daryl, well, _ever_. The younger Dixon was like a piece of the same puzzle, fitting perfectly, a click to his clack. He’d sooner rip his arm off than risk that friendship. And anyway, it would amount to the same thing: ripping off a part of himself.

He stopped at the living room doorway. Daryl had obeyed, he sat on that chair with hunched shoulders and a bowed head, looking dejected for some reason.

A dozen goddamn cans pummeled on Rick’s heart, the worms inside screaming for attention, but he pushed them all aside. His friend wasn’t feeling well, his other half was in pain, so _fuck_ those cans.

Daryl listened to Rick’s steps as the man did his rounds. He heard him stop at the doorway; he felt Rick’s eyes on him. Daryl stared at his hands and refused to remember the feel of Rick holding them. ‘cause that sorta thing wasn’t something he should be thinking about. Rick’d be disgusted. **_I’m_** _disgusted, right? That’s the squirm in my belly, obviously._

The rickety fabrication came down like a house of cards when Rick walked right behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. For reasons Daryl skipped by as fast as he could, that touch hurt more than the fall he’d taken back in the woods.

“How’s the leg?”

“Pretty much the same as ten minutes ago,” Daryl quipped, aiming for casual and cool and nonchalant. And immediately wanting to slap himself; why exactly had it become necessary to _concentrate_ on sounding carefree and oh-so-normal?

Rick still stood behind him, his hand lightly resting on Daryl’s shoulder. _Oh yeah, that’s why_. Daryl almost groaned out loud. For weeks now, there had been this strange spotlight focused on every touch and glance they shared, and he didn’t know how to cope with it. The old Daryl would’ve run, it would’ve been a perfectly good way to deal with a door he wouldn’t want to open. The post-apocalyptic Daryl gritted his teeth and contented himself with averting his eyes, forever if need be. He would _die_ for this man -- he certainly wasn’t gonna leave him just because he had to concentrate on his tone every now and then!

Rick squeezed Daryl’s shoulder and let go.

“Let’s eat something. It’ll be dark soon, then we’ll try to get some sleep. We’ll leave at first light.”

The spotlight dimmed down for a few hours, and it was easier, cozy, just two friends camping out, chatting intermittently. They ate, and Rick sat down on the floor and leaned on the moldy couch. Once, Daryl thought...nah, it was just the flames flickering, ‘cause Rick wouldn’t look at him like that, duh..!

Then it grew dark, and with the night came the cold. Rick stood up and scoped the rooms for anything serviceable. He piled curtains and a few not-so-musty blankets on the floor in front of the fireplace and rolled up a few leftover jackets as pillows.

“That’s the best I can do. Thank God for the fireplace -- that’s more than we get most nights.” He turned to look at Daryl. “Get your ass down here.” He held out his hand.

They both knew how this would go, it wasn’t the first time and it wouldn’t be the last; in fact, it was so ordinary it shouldn’t have raised anyone’s heartbeat. So Daryl told himself firmly to quit bein’ a goddamn moron, assembled all the fuckin’ zen he could, took Rick’s hand, hauled himself up and limped to the makeshift bed and lay down on his back. Rick took one final round to check the doors and windows, then he settled by Daryl’s side and drew a worn blanket over them both. 

They lay there in silence, looking at the play of shadows on the ceiling, shoulders touching. And that’s how they fell asleep.

Sometime later, Daryl woke up, with just a thin layer of sleep between him and full consciousness. He was warm, wrapped around another warm body, and a faint tingle of alarm bells went off. He stirred, tried to get in command of his extremities, he should pull back, shouldn’t he… 

The warm body against his shifted, a hand grasped his wrist -- not hard, but just enough to stop him -- and a soft murmur tickled his ear.

“Don’t…”

So he didn’t. And in the morning when he woke up, alone, he heard Rick moving around the house, and he wondered: _Did I imagine it? Was it a dream?_

*

They didn’t leave that day. Daryl’s knee was stiff and achy, and the swell on his ankle had barely lessened at all. Rick wrapped it up again and grunted.

“Fine. Change of plans. We’ll take another day.”

“They’ll get worried.”

“Can’t help it. My first priority is to get us both back alive. We have better odds if your leg is better. For now, we’re ok here. Another day might make all the difference.”

Daryl didn’t object; he knew Rick was right. And it was the weirdest thing… maybe it _had_ been a dream, the thing last night, but it had changed something. For the life of him, Daryl couldn’t generate the kind of determination to avoid the door in his mind than he’d had before. He just couldn’t. The urgency had left him. He had no idea why -- it just was. He knew he should make it come back, but...it just seemed less important somehow.

 _If the walkers don’t kill me, this just might_ , he grumbled to himself, but the thought just triggered a shrug in his mind. 

Rick had slept lightly; he’d been wide awake when Daryl had tried to pull away. The grip on Daryl’s wrist, the whispered ‘Don’t’ had been a reflex, and he’d been terrified of Daryl’s reaction in the morning. It was just… when he’d realized the hunter had snuggled into him, wormed his arm around his chest, he’d… he just hadn’t been able to find the strength to push him away. The can of worms had been right there, and he’d let it stay.

When the morning light had woken him up, he’d gently lifted Daryl’s arm and wriggled away, trying his very best not to wake up the other man, and succeeding. The hunter hadn’t seemed awkward at all when he’d woken up, and Rick had taken his cue from him. He’d felt a new lightness somehow; the can of worms had floated in his mind and tried to look intimidating, but for an unknown reason he’d felt no pressing need to push it away. 

It was a relaxing day; there was nothing much they could do except to keep watch and talk. Most of the time they were perfectly satisfied with staying silent together. They had full backpacks of supplies so they didn’t need to go hungry, even though they ate sparingly. After all, the contents of those bags were meant for the whole family.

When the evening fell, Rick sat on his heels in front of Daryl once again.

“Let’s take a look at it, ok?”

Daryl didn’t bother to grumble -- it wouldn’t have budged Rick anyways, he was hell-bent on the mother hen act. Also, the previous night still affected Daryl, so he was honest enough to admit to himself that he kinda liked it, Rick being this way.

He bent his knee a few times. 

“‘s better,” he grunted. Rick nodded, settled Daryl’s foot in his lap and unwrapped the bandage, his fingers just as gentle as before. 

“Doesn’t look so bad anymore. The swelling is going down.”

“You’re in luck. ‘cause we’re goin’ back tomorrow, one way or another. An’ if I can’t walk, you’ll just hafta carry me.” Daryl grinned, relieved that his leg was getting better. Rick would still have to help him but he wouldn’t be completely helpless. 

Rick didn’t look up but Daryl saw his mouth curve up in a smile. 

“Sure I would carry you, ten miles on uneven ground. What do you take me for, a frickin’ Hulk? You gotta stop reading Carl’s comic books, I’m telling you…”

Rick noticed he was still holding Daryl’s bare foot. Later, he would run through everything that happened that evening, and tag this moment under _#UtterMadness_. Or maybe _#WhatTheHeckLifeIsAGamble_. Or perhaps _#NoGutsNoGlory_.

He brushed Daryl’s foot -- under the pretence of checking the swelling, of course --, drew patterns with his fingers, one after another, gave a light pinch on his calf, on the same place as the previous day. 

Daryl said nothing. Didn’t pull his foot away. The silence lay on them soft and heavy, and Rick didn’t want to break it, didn’t want to look up and risk cracking the delicate moment. 

He ran blunt fingernails lightly over the arch of Daryl’s foot and smiled at the way his toes curled.

“Tickles,” said a quiet, gravelly voice. 

“Mmmhm,” Rick hummed.

He started to wrap the bandage again, and when he was done he shifted a little, just enough to lean against the couch. Only then did he look up. It wasn’t that he’d been _afraid_ of looking at Daryl -- if the hunter hadn’t tolerated Rick’s touch, there was no fucking way he wouldn’t have made his opinion clear. It was just… it had been almost meditative, the way he’d wanted to take care of Daryl. 

But now he had to meet his gaze. The previous night had given Rick a strange clarity, a tentative courage to deal with the goddamn can. The relationship between him and the hunter had always been so easy, so uncomplicated. Letting all these worms mess with his mind would eventually mess with the relationship, and he wasn’t about to let that happen. Better to face the music. Right now, he didn’t even know what song it was, or if he was the only one hearing it. 

_I guess it’s time to find out. Gotta begin somewhere, sometime._

So he met the hunter’s eyes, blue and...curious, somehow. The man was chewing on his lip, like he tended to do when he was deep in thought. Maybe Rick should say something? Talk about something ordinary, not make this moment _too_ heavy. His newly found courage was fragile; weighty moments might crush it.

He shifted, tried to find a more comfortable position, and felt a godawful twinge on his shoulder, close to his neck. He grimaced and let out a painful breath.

Daryl saw him make a face and huff in pain.

“Rick?”

The leader grimaced again and rubbed his neck. 

“A goddamn crick in my neck. Jesus…” Cautiously, he turned his head left and right, and yelped in pain. “Goddamnit…”

“Where in God’s name did ya get that?” Daryl leaned his elbows on his knees and frowned at his friend.

“Dragging your ass here, sleeping on that floor. I’m gettin’ too old for this shit,” Rick mock-grumbled, and got a chuckle out of the archer.

The words just came out of Daryl’s mouth, unchecked, unfiltered by his rational mind. Maybe because it really was nothing special, wasn’t the first time -- it was...it was just a bit different now, wasn’t it? So he really should’ve kept his mouth shut.

“That’s it, my turn to mother-hen you. Try to move your ancient bones here, I’ll give ya a neck rub. One of us has to be in perfect condition tomorrow.”

Rick tried to object but Daryl wouldn’t let him.

“I’m bein’ selfish here, you gotta be able to drag my ass home tomorrow. So stop bitchin’ an’ come here.” He pointed on the floor between his legs.

The door shimmered in his mind, and Daryl looked straight at it. _I know what’s behind ya. Ain’t afraid of it. Dunno why, but there it is. Do your worst. Try to break our friendship, I dare ya._ He had no earthly idea what gave him this weird peace of mind -- couldn’t all be that tiny incident last night? 

He remembered Rick’s fingers on his ankle, on the sole of his foot, sensed them, the warmth was still there.

No, it wasn’t all from last night.

Rick settled between Daryl’s knees and Daryl sank his fingers in his flannel-covered shoulders. He started off gently, mapping out the tense muscles, observing Rick’s reactions. It was all very clinical, and Daryl knew there was no reason for the lump in his throat. He kneaded his thumbs along Rick’s neck, aiming for just the right amount of pressure on the sensitive tendons. The collar of the shirt kept getting under his fingertips; he kept brushing it aside.

“Want me to take it off?” Rick’s voice was neutral, like he didn’t care one way or the other. _And why would he?_ Daryl scolded himself, _he’s just asking for my benefit._ To make the neck rub easier to perform. Daryl really shouldn’t let his mind flit all over the place on account of a few brushes on his foot and a sleep-muddled _don’t_.

“Ya wouldn’t freeze?” Felt easier to answer the question with another question.

“Nah,” Rick said, grabbed the flannel at his waist and yanked the shirt and the t-shirt off with one fluid movement. “I’m pretty warm.”

Wheels whirred in Daryl’s brain -- gear neutral, no traction, zero control. He felt an overwhelming urge to let out a hysterical giggle; he _so_ didn’t need this right now, the chance to have his hands all over Rick’s bare skin. Good Lord! He forced himself to calm down, went on with the thumbs and the kneading of Rick’s neck, and searched for the safest thing to say.

“Yeah, the fireplace’s been a real lifesaver.”

“Sure.”

Daryl could’ve sworn Rick’s tone held a fair dose of amusement. This was starting to get difficult, these discussions which took place on several levels at the same time. Shit, as if Daryl was any good even on conversations on one (1) level at a time…

He preferred the sound of words to the goddamn whirr in his brain, so he kept talking -- about the run, about their plans, about Judith. He had almost calmed down, in spite of the warmth of Rick’s skin under his palms, when the other man gasped out a sound that was...fuckin’ _sinful_. Daryl swallowed.

“Sorry, man.”

Rick purred a low chuckle. “No, it felt good. This is really helping. Can’t thank you enough.” Rick let out a slow, long exhale and rolled his shoulders. “Mmm. So much better.”

Daryl’s hands had paused, but he’d kinda forgotten _(Oops?)_ to take them off Rick so they just lay there, lightly, against his shoulder blades. Rick turned his head up to look at the hunter and leaned back against his legs; Daryl had to move his hands but somehow, God knows how that happened!, they just ended up resting on the leader’s upper arms. Rick smiled up at him, face relaxed and happy.

Rick didn’t know what made him more happy -- that the pain from his neck was gone, or the fact that Daryl still had his hands on Rick’s body. It wasn’t even sexual, as such… more like the essence of warmth, of caring, of a need to not let go. Rick remembered the night in the porch swing, several weeks ago; how he’d struggled to not move when he’d noticed that Daryl hadn’t pulled himself back from the accidental touch. He’d hardly breathed for the first few minutes. 

The neck rub -- that was nothing special. Hell, they’d all had their hands on each other at some time or other; the group had abandoned the old conventions about touching a long time ago, cast aside just like so many other useless formalities. Even someone as macho as Abe didn’t so much as blink anymore if Glenn or Rick took it upon himself to rub his aching calves -- he’d get the most godawful muscle cramps after long walks.

But did they let their hands linger after the work was done? Nope, they sure didn’t. Except… now he’d done it a few times with Daryl’s foot. And now this. Coming from the restrained hunter who still had a few persistent hang-ups about touch… 

Did it mean something? Did Rick dare imagine it meant something? Did he _want_ it to mean something?

The can of worms in his mind let out a rattle which made him wonder if the worms had learned to frown and clear their throats in an emphatic manner. _“Dumbass!”_ they seemed to scream at him.

He brushed Daryl’s hand briefly with his knuckles, scrambled up and held out his hand.

“Let’s get some sleep. We’ll start early tomorrow morning.”

Daryl didn’t hesitate; he took Rick’s hand and let the older man help him down on their makeshift bed. He felt a funny little flurry in his belly when he saw Rick put on his flannel -- just the flannel, which he didn’t button up. Daryl swallowed down a question, wasn’t really his business to question what a grown-ass man put on or not. It was warm enough. Really, Daryl thought, how was it this warm?

Rick lay down by Daryl’s side, and for a while they didn’t say anything, not even a good night. Rick didn’t want to push this thing -- he didn’t want to push _himself_ , for fuck’s sake, not like he was certain of anything himself, either… but he wanted to do _something_...

_#NoGutsNoGlory._

“Truth or dare?”

Daryl barked a surprised laugh. “Y’ain’t serious with that shit, Rick?”

“‘m not that tired yet. Come on, just a couple of rounds. Ain’t gonna kill you, an’ I promise I won’t tell a soul.” Rick bumped his shoulder, and if he didn’t move all the way back, well, it didn’t seem to bother the younger man.

Daryl snorted. “Fine. But I ain’t gonna take no risk with a dare. Ya might make me, like, sing or something, an’ that ain’t fit for public consumption. I’m gonna go with a truth but I’m warnin’ ya, ‘m stronger than you, an’ I’ll wring your frickin’ neck if ya try ask me somethin’ embarrassin’.” Daryl turned his head towards Rick and gave him a poor excuse of an intimidating scowl.

“Duly noted,” said Rick, laughter in his voice. “Ok, so… what am I gonna ask...Ok, Daryl, tell me what you’re proudest of? In yourself, I mean.”

“What?” asked Daryl, baffled. “In me? Don’t think I’m proud of anything, man. Ain’t a lot to choose from, that’s for sure.”

“Just play along,” Rick coaxed, and Daryl frowned and tried to think of something. 

“Well,” he started slowly, “I guess I ain’t too shit with the crossbow.”

“See, it’s not that difficult! Ok, your turn. An’ you don’t even have to ask, I’ll take a truth as well.”

They dropped all pretence of the ‘dare’ part of the game, it was all about the truths. They took turns, back and forth, and the questions were light, good-humored, innocent.

“Ok, last question,” said Daryl and yawned. “‘m gettin’ tired, this truth-speaking shit is wearin’ me down.”

Rick bumped his shoulder again which had got real easy because by now they were pressed together, shoulder to shoulder. “You’re the shittiest liar I know. This should be a cakewalk to you.”

Daryl chuckled. “Whatever, man. Ask away.”

Rick hesitated for a beat. “Seems only fair you get to answer this one, as well. If you lost all of us, who would you miss the most?”

You could hear a pin drop. Rick pricked up his ears -- did Daryl even breathe anymore?

“Barring…?”

“Oh, ok. Barring Judith. I know you love your li’l asskicker.” Rick felt how Daryl nodded. For the shortest of moments, he wondered if it was a good idea to look at Daryl while he waited on the hunter’s reply. Good idea or not, he wanted to see the man, so he turned his head a little.

Daryl was staring at the ceiling, chewing on his lip. He felt his friend’s gaze on him. Rick. The goddamn bastard. Did he really not know the answer? Couldn’t be. It was a secret to nobody how close they were to each other. Their whole family knew they were best friends. And apparently, a group of frickin’ scumbags could pick up on their relationship after a few moments of observation -- albeit they’d got it twisted and wrong. But still. 

Was Rick playin’ games with him while they were playin’ a game?

Daryl was the first to admit he didn’t have the liveliest of imaginations. But right at that moment, the door in his mind flickered like a bright star, trying to attract his attention, and he could’ve sworn he heard a groan and a sound resembling a facepalm behind it. 

Apparently, his subconscious was gettin’ fed up with him. He shrugged to himself and turned his head just enough so that their gazes met.

“You know it’s you. What’s the point of askin’ questions you know the answers to already?”

Rick just _looked_ at him, and suddenly Daryl’s mind was flooded with memories of so many other looks just like that, burrowing into his very soul, only this time it wasn’t a quick glance on a run or a short locking of gazes over a meal or during a discussion on a group matter. This was similar but a thousandfold. 

Christ...how long exactly had this...this _thing_ been there -- dormant, waiting.

“Wanted...to know for sure. To hear you say it.”

Daryl had no words. His heart went pitter-patter and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Rick. He had no fuckin’ idea how long they lay there, simply looking at each other. In a vague corner of his mind, he wondered if maybe they were supposed to _do_ something but then, this was nice, and fragile, like a drawing on a beach sand, and Daryl didn’t want to make waves, they could so easily sweep the delicate pattern away.

Finally, Rick’s mouth curved into a small smile, and he turned on his side towards Daryl. 

“We should get some sleep, Daryl,” he said, and his voice was so frickin’ soft it made Daryl’s heart cringe painfully, except it wasn’t pain and fuck if he knew what the fuck it was. 

Rick seemed to hesitate a second. He brought his hand up and very carefully, like he was trying not to spook Daryl, he brushed aside several messy locks that had drifted over his friend’s eyes.

“Good night, Daryl.”

“Good night, Rick.”

*

Again Daryl woke up in the middle of the night. Occupational hazards of this brave new world. Probably just a squirrel running over the roof or something -- it didn’t take much to wake him up.

Again he felt a warm body close to him. Really close. Like, _really_ close. His face was burrowed in the crook of Rick’s neck and the scent of him surrounded Daryl. Rick’s arm had somehow ended up under his head, wound over his waist, and Daryl’s arm -- a shudder ran through his sleepy body -- rested wrapped around Rick’s bare waist, Daryl’s hand on Rick’s back securely holding the man. 

Rick’s skin was so very, very warm. And not for a single second did Daryl consider pulling back. No, his drowsy mind gave in to a _need_ and let him inch even closer to the safety of Rick’s warmth, and a content sigh escaped from his lips.

And of course Rick was awake, too; he was just as vigilant. So Daryl didn’t jump out of his skin when Rick’s thick, languid voice reached his ears.

“You ok?”

“Mmhm.”

“Good.” Rick’s arm squeezed him just a little bit tighter.

Daryl was drifting off to sleep again. Rick shifted and then, just as sleep had almost gripped Daryl, he felt Rick’s lips brush over his closed eyelid, gentle as a summer breeze. He was positive he didn’t imagine it, it wasn’t a dream. 

Not so with the words.

“Sleep well, darlin’.”

Nah. That was a dream. Rick would never…

*

The morning came and went; Rick had woken up before him, and they ate and packed up in half an hour. Rick checked Daryl’s ankle, quicker this time but just as gentle, fingertips lingering longer than necessary. 

Things had shifted between them once again, and Daryl wondered if that had been going on for a really long time already. These teeny tiny movements, slow and minuscule like the shift of tectonic plates, but over time starting to add up, become noticeable. Daryl snorted to himself, watching Rick lick his plump lower lip as he was wrapping up Daryl’s ankle, _yeah, noticeable, even for someone like me_.

But he wouldn’t ask about the words. _Darlin’_... that was…that would be...Daryl didn’t even know. People threw all kinds of words around, showered ‘love’ and ‘honey’ and ‘dear’ around them like they were just meaningless noises -- nice things but diluted by overuse. Well, Daryl had never used them in the first place, and wasn’t accustomed to hearing them about himself either. Carol did her best and Daryl had learned some, but nobody, and he meant not a single frickin’ soul, had ever whispered something like that to his ear in the middle of the night, right after kissing his face, while still holding him.

He had no fuckin’ idea how he should handle the fact that it might not have been a dream. Much safer to assume it had been. Words were serious business.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update on Saturday.


	6. Episode 10

*** * * * * * THE DEER * * * * * ***

Tara flinched; the fucking needle had pricked her fingertip, again. She sucked the tiny bead of blood away and stared at the tear in the vest she was mending. She hated the work -- she loved that vest. She sighed, and went on with the stitching.

“I could help you with that,” said an amused voice, and Carol sat down by her side. “You sharpen my knives, I take care of your vest. Deal?”

Tara grinned, and accepted the deal with a fist pump. Then she heard a rumble. _Oh. Embarrassing!_ Carol flicked a glance at her. 

“Hungry?” she smirked. Tara smiled sheepishly.

“Any idea what we gonna eat today?”

Carol jerked her head to her left. “I’m hoping the boys’ll take care of it today. If Rick doesn’t mess the whole thing up, that is.”

“Oh, is that the deer Daryl caught this morning?”

“Yep. Rick insisted he wanted to learn how to transform a deer into a steak, so Daryl’s teaching him.”

They watched the two men for a while. Daryl had expressive hands; he had this habit of speaking more eloquently with his hands than with his mouth, so it was almost as if the two women ‘heard’ the hunter’s explanations. 

“He’s got a lot to say on the subject,” Carol said, amused.

“He’s got an attentive audience,” Tara said in a neutral tone. So neutral, in fact, that Carol glanced at her. Their eyes met and they shared a knowing look. They said nothing, however, just continued to observe the two men.

Rick worked on the deer for a few minutes. Daryl jumped up and crouched by his side, touched his arm, let his hand rest there as if he’d forgotten all about it -- he could be loud enough with just the one remaining free hand. 

The women saw Rick’s profile as he turned to look at his friend. Rick laughed and leaned closer to say something; why he seemed to feel the need to whisper it straight to Daryl’s ear when there were no other people close by was anybody’s guess. The jittery hunter seemed not to mind the prolonged proximity, and when Rick finally went back to work, Daryl didn’t move back to his old place, and even though he’d pulled back his hand from Rick’s arm, they were close enough, their arms brushing each other with every movement Rick made. 

Neither woman felt any need to leave the porch where they were sitting. The interaction of their leader and his right-hand man was pleasant to watch. Tara scolded herself for having a fuckin’ lump in her throat. She had no doubt about what was happening before her eyes, and about time, too. 

“I wonder what’s happened.” Carol’s voice was musing, she had a small furrow between her eyebrows. “It’s not much, but there’s _something_ new, I’m sure of it… something’s changed.”

Tara shifted to a more comfortable position. “It’s the run,” she said, like it was self-explanatory which run she meant.

And it was. Carol nodded slowly. “Yeah…” 

She forgot what she was going to say; Rick had sat up, he cleaned his hands on a rag. He rested his forearm on Daryl’s shoulder and seemed to talk eagerly, pointing at the carcass with his other hand. There was nothing remarkable in any of it as such -- it wasn’t like everybody didn’t know how close friends those two were. Carol cocked her head on the side. 

“I can’t put my finger on what’s different.”

“Mmhm, same here.” Tara gave a quiet chuckle. “My gaydar’s been ticking ‘round those two forever anyway; it’s just that after that run it’s been on the red zone all the frickin’ time. They’ve been easy an’ relaxed the whole time I’ve known them -- which isn’t a whole lot, I know, but what I’ve heard it’s been like this pretty much ever since you guys found that prison. But now, it’s like the same but more, if you know what I mean. _More_ easy, _more_ relaxed.”

They heard the sound of heavy footsteps on the porch. 

“So you think they’re finally fucking?” Abe scratched his mustache and looked mildly interested as he peered at the two men.

Carol lifted an eyebrow. “You have to be crass about it?”

Abe snorted. “scuse me, milady. Have they finally sworn their undying love for each other in flowery verses, and consummated their union with an intimate act of physical nature?”

Carol couldn’t help but laugh. “Much better. I knew you had a poet in there.” She paused. “Dunno, and I’m not gonna ask Daryl, either. We’ll leave them alone. If there’s, let’s say, a _new development_ , it’ll come out eventually,” (Abe sniggered), “oh grow up, Ford! What I mean is _if_ there’s something new brewing, I don’t want anyone to interfere with what might be happening. God knows it’s been a long time coming, an’ I’ll personally gut anyone who bothers them in any way, good-natured or otherwise.”

“I hear ya,” Abe said, and his voice was surprisingly serious. “Ain’t none of us gettin’ any younger. Don’t see much point in wasting time, ‘s all I’m sayin’. Every minute could be the last one, so why wait? That was true enough Before -- even more so with the way things are now.”

They watched Rick stand up and walk towards the house. 

“Wanna help with the steaks? Daryl’s making a fire already,” he said when he got close enough to speak without having to shout. There was a smear of blood on his cheek and Tara shuddered to think about shaking hands with the man, but the grin on his face was contagious as hell.

“You’re the deer-master now?” she quipped.

Rick laughed. “Still gotta work on it some more. But I have a very good teacher, we’ll get there.”

“I’m sure you will,” Abe said without even the faintest undercurrent of insinuation of any kind. Carol almost gave him a thumbs-up. 

With all these people quietly rooting for the two men, they were sure to get there.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more episodes to go.... Next update on Tuesday.


	7. Episode 11

*** * * * * * THE SHOWER * * * * * ***

The small school building had its own generators. They decided to stay there for a few days because, hey, generators! There was a tiny gym which wasn’t a big deal, not like they were going to start playing basketball or have an aerobics session all of a sudden, but a gym meant showers, and a generator meant there was warm water in those showers. 

So that was why Rick was grinning when he headed towards the boys’ shower room with a towel and a half-used bar of soap. It’d been ages since they last had working showers, and the mere idea of being able to get clean without dipping into an icy stream or having to drag and heat bucketfuls of water was… yeah, Rick felt like singing.

He opened the door to the changing room when he heard voices from inside the shower room. Others had beat him to it -- he just hoped they wouldn’t’ve spent all the hot water, he really didn’t want to wait. He stripped off his clothes and dropped them on a bench, noticing only then that there were indeed two other piles of clothes already there. Now he identified the voice who was talking and laughing: Glenn. He gave half a second to wondering who the other one might be but it was too unimportant to think about, so he just pushed the door open and joined his friends.

“Well if it isn’t our glorious leader, Rick Grimy!” Glenn laughed, and continued to dry himself.

Rick’s eyes darted to Glenn and his answering chuckle was forced and mechanical. He just hoped he managed to pull himself together fast enough -- before the others noticed there was anything wrong.

The first thing he’d seen as he’d stepped into the shower room had been the wet, naked body of Daryl Dixon. The hunter stood under a shower washing his hair. The suds slithered on his shoulders, chest, belly… And that was when Rick tore his gaze aside and realized Glenn had said something to him. A side-glance told him Daryl’s hands had frozen in his hair at the sound of Glenn’s quip. Holy frickin’ fuck.

Rick breathed deep, and strolled to the bench and laid his towel there. He curved his lips at Glenn, hoping it looked like his normal smile. He had trouble thinking of things to say. Something normal, something ordinary...

Glenn decided to help the poor guy. He’d never seen the dauntless Rick so at a loss for words. The young man kinda wanted to snicker a little but he did remember what it had been like, with Maggie at that pharmacy, when she had just ripped her shirt off without any warning, and Glenn had felt like he’d swallowed his own tongue. The poor leader looked pretty much like Glenn had felt that day. 

His brain was on overdrive. So...did this mean those two weren’t... hadn’t yet at least…? Glenn gave a furtive glance to Daryl who was still like a statue under the warm stream of water. Jesus Christ, these two… they really did need some help.

“It was so frickin’ great to have a real shower,” he beamed at Rick. “I gotta go now. Most of the others have already washed themselves, so you can take your time. Bye Daryl, bye Rick!” 

And then there were just the two of them.

It was a small school; the showers had no separate stalls, and only three showerheads, so there were limits to how big a personal space Rick could give Daryl.

He turned on the water, and groaned at the incredible feel of warm water showering on his skin.

“Sounds like ya need some alone time.” The hunter sounded amused. 

Rick was almost disappointed -- looked like the hunter wasn’t as affected by the situation as he was. But then he realized Daryl’s stance was stiff and awkward, his hands moved too slow in his hair, and he’d squeezed his eyes shut. Rick gave in to temptation for a few glorious moments. With his eyes, he feasted on the hunter’s body, mapped the muscles, devoured the glistening skin -- and was promptly ashamed of himself for acting like a frickin’ perv.

“Nah, I’m good.” He couldn’t help but add, “This is perfect.” 

And for a while he tried to concentrate on what he was supposed to do: take a shower. But it was so goddamn difficult to get the image of Daryl’s body out of his mind. Because in that one instant, a new ingredient had popped into existence into the mix that was his relationship to the gorgeous man beside him. Trust, friendship, closeness, tenderness, caring, love -- and now this. 

Passion. 

Rick fought to keep inside another deep groan. He felt his cock perk up _(Christ...I hope Daryl doesn’t freak out…)_ and he turned his face up and took in the full force of the water, hoping it might calm him down, even a little. But he was a weak man, goddamn it, and it didn’t take him very long to give in to the want, and look at the handsome hunter again.

Daryl shifted, got his face from under the water and wiped the excess from his eyes. He took a deep breath and turned to look at Rick. ‘cause it would be impolite to seem like he wanted to avoid the man. Except that he totally did. ‘cause really, a naked Rick, what the fuck! It’d been hard enough on the run, Rick’s bare upper body, y’know. But this? Rick had thrown his head back, his eyes were closed, and the water streamed over it and down his body. His hands moved on his skin, scrubbed his armpits, the greying chest hair, rubbed his belly, wandered down, down, and Daryl’s eyes were glued on them…

...this was different, he thought, a little dazed. This was one of the things he’d never allowed himself to think, much like that door in his mind. Rick was his friend, and you didn’t think of your friends that way, you didn’t let yourself look at them if you happened to shower together, you didn’t jerk off to fantasies about your friends, you just didn’t, ‘cause that would mean you thought about them that way…

...but this was different now, and Rick was sorely mistaken if he thought Daryl hadn’t noticed the lingering gaze just now. Rick’s eyes had burnt into his skin, and it had taken all he had to keep his hands on his hair, to pretend to go on washing and rinsing, to keep his eyes shut. His first instinct had been to cover himself ‘cause, y’know, he was not much to look at, an’ Rick was so beautiful, so how was he supposed to compare to that. But tentative self-confidence bubbled under his skin and he thought, _well, if he wants to look at me, then I gotta believe it’s because he sees something he likes_. It was such a daring thought -- a new, untrodden path in his mind.

...oh God, this was so different. His gaze brushed over Rick’s cock, didn’t dare to stop there even though the stirring he felt in his own groin made his brain all fuzzy. Christ, how he wanted to savor every intimate part of Rick’s body. But he went on, traveled down the long, lean legs, and then his eyes were already on their way back up, caressed the tight curve of Rick’s ass _(Jesus fuck…)_ , brushed again over the half-hard cock, and went on up-

Wait. Half-hard?

Daryl’s eyes snapped back. Rick’s cock was filling up right under his eyes, and what the fuck was that about? He felt his own body respond, and good God he was about to freak the fuck out!

And then he realized he’d been staring at his friend a little too long, and his terrified eyes darted up, and sure as fuck Rick was looking right at him. 

_What the fuck are you supposed to say when you’re caught starin’ at someone’s junk?_

Did whatever had been building up between them for the past weeks (months? years?) excuse Daryl’s hungry gaze?

Daryl saw him swallow, and then he saw Rick’s eyes start to drift, they skimmed Daryl’s face, glided down to his chest, brushed his arms, ghosted over his stomach... and it was very deliberate, like Rick wanted to make absolutely sure Daryl knew what Rick was doing. Like he was giving him every chance to stop this thing, to stop the shower, take the towel and gently steer the whole thing back to where it’d been -- a pretty goddamn close friendship but nothing more.

The hunter let him look. He had trouble breathing and he knew for a fact he was really freaking out a little. All the friendship, tenderness, touching -- they had crept on so slow, he’d gotten used to them, little by little, but this, this was like, like they’d gone from the Atlanta take-your-hands-off-me episode straight to cuddling on the floor of a worn-out house. Too fast, too fuckin’ fast!

He had to do something, he couldn’t just stand there. His eyes hit on the bar of soap Glenn had left on the narrow shelf by the shower. Yes, he should go on washing himself, that would give his hands something to do. 

He took one last look at Rick; the leader’s eyes were somewhere around his knees, traveling up, pausing for a moment on Daryl’s cock _(yes yes it was filling up jesus christ this was…_ and Daryl shuddered), and darted right up to meet Daryl’s gaze. Rick looked intense as he stood there, and Daryl couldn’t help but flick his eyes up and down, and the next thing he knew he was biting his bottom lip and grazing it with his teeth and he could’ve screamed at himself. If his body had decided to start flirting, could it please deliver a memo to his brain first?

So after all this, it was probably only natural that his hand shook just a little when he picked up the soap which was wet and slippery, and it made a tiny splashing noise which reverberated in the shower room as it slipped off his hand and hit the floor.

Of all the fuckin’ things… Daryl stared at the bar of soap on the shower floor, and every prison shower joke ever flooded his mind, and he didn’t know which one of them cracked up first, but they were howling with laughter within seconds. They turned off the showers and stood there shaking with laughter. 

Rick wiped tears from his eyes and let out an honest-to-God hiccup as he tried to calm down. He bit his lip and shook his head. “Well, Dixon, I take it that subtlety is really not your thing?”

And just like that, it was normal again, and Daryl wasn’t freaking out. Well no, that’s not right… this wasn’t the old normal, the pre-shower normal -- this was the post-shower normal, the normal where they were allowed to look at each other. Where their bodies were allowed to react to each other.

And yet, they were still also allowed to crack up and laugh together.

As they started to towel themselves dry and Daryl looked at the other man just to see the familiar fond smile that made Rick’s eyes crinkle and Daryl’s heart skip a beat, he really couldn’t find a single downside in all this.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next/last update on Thursday. I'm betting *nobody* can guess where this is heading... yep, I'm writing a goddamn mystery story!!!


	8. Episode 12

*** * * * * * THE ATTIC * * * * * ***

They’d become rather skillful at cooking in fireplaces _not_ meant for cooking in. Carol stirred the contents of the pot with an appraising look on her face, and deemed it edible enough. 

“Come an’ get it,” she yelled. “There’s not too much of it but at least it’s hot,” she went on in her ordinary voice, and Carl who was already waiting with a plate and a spoon shrugged. 

“Not much is better than nothing,” the teenager said. He was used to it -- sometimes they had plenty, sometimes they had nothing at all for days. And sometimes, like now, it was something in between: just enough to get by from day to day. The group had become pretty zen about stuff like that; even moody teens had only so much energy to waste on moodiness.

Daryl came carrying two large cups. When Carol lifted a curious eyebrow, he muttered, “For Rick.” 

Carol hummed a yes. Rick was on his guard shift and wouldn’t be back for another hour by which time the food would either be long gone or overcooked to an even more tasteless mush. Carol kept her face blank; she didn’t want to give the slightest hint to her friend that she found his thoughtfulness really, really adorable. Not just towards Rick either -- it warmed Carol’s heart to watch Daryl play with Judith, to see how the tight lines around his eyes relaxed. And she hadn’t forgotten the Cherokee Rose, not at all. 

You’d think she would’ve gotten used to it by now; maybe it was the contrast between the rough exterior and the really very sweet interior that kept surprising her over and over again.

It was entirely possible that the gruff, poorly-educated, lethal redneck had the sweetest heart of them all, Carol mused. And wasn’t it ironic. Who’d’ve thought it of Daryl, had they seen him before the apocalypse? Carol knew for certain she wouldn’t have given him the time of day -- Daryl had told her stories, she knew how he’d been, tagging along with Merle and Merle’s no-good companions. She would’ve never gotten the chance to get to know the good man underneath.

She shook her head to herself; hell, _Daryl_ wouldn’t’ve gotten the chance to find out what a good man he was.

Funny how these things worked out.

Carrying the two cups and spoons, Daryl climbed three sets of stairs until he reached the attic. It had been furnished as a kind of a den, with a professional-looking sewing machine, a tailor’s dummy, and rolls of fabric, most of which were moldy by now. Rick sat by the floor-length window at the end of the room, keeping watch over the fields. He turned to look at the hunter and leaned on the wall.

“Brought ya food,” Daryl blurted out. “Thought ya might be hungry by now.” 

“Thanks,” said Rick. He took the offered cup and the spoon. “That’s very thoughtful of you.” He eyed the other cup. “Wanna keep me company?”

Daryl sat down against the wall, and it was a testament to the changed nature of their relationship that he didn’t even pretend to leave an ‘appropriate’ space between them. Rick noticed, and loved it. The incident in the showers had gone from supercharged with sexual tension to laughing so hard even the restrained hunter had had trouble stopping the chuckles and, admittedly, Rick had later briefly wondered if the tension had been too much for Daryl. He’d wondered if maybe the other man had come to the conclusion that all he wanted was a really close friendship peppered with occasional lingering touches and kisses on closed eyelids. Friends with sleeping-chastely-tangled-together-with-clothes-on-but-snuggling-like-crazy kind of benefits.

Then a week had passed, and Daryl hadn’t pulled back at all. The joke about Daryl’s subtlety had remained the only time they’d put any of this into words, but it didn’t mean the situation hadn’t...evolved. 

Ever since they found the prison, they’d been tactile, touching each other -- squeezes on the shoulder, pats on the belly, brushes on arms -- like they kept wanting to make sure the other one was safe and close. Now, the amount of extra touching was, quite frankly, ridiculous. Not necessarily always physical -- it was also their heightened sense of the other’s whereabouts. Often Rick didn’t even have to turn his head to know Daryl was watching him, and when he finally did, there they were, the blue eyes, watching him like the hunter was trying to solve a puzzle. 

Oh, it worked the other way around as well. Every time they were in the same room, Rick’s eyes strayed on Daryl sooner or later -- well, sooner, usually. And eventually, the hunter would meet his gaze and be all unsurprised by it, and then they’d just...let their eyes rest on each other. On three separate occasions, Carol and Maggie and Hershel had had to nudge him to catch his attention. Once, he’d noticed it happen to Daryl. He could’ve sworn he’d seen a smirk but since it was Eugene...nah, Eugene wasn’t the smirking kind.

So yeah, they weren’t even trying to cover it up. And Rick was honestly amazed that not a single soul had said a word. It was like nobody had noticed anything -- except they had to have seen it. 

Although, why he was expecting others to comment on the situation when the two of them didn’t even talk about it with each other…

That had got to change.

Rick was deep in thought when the rattle of a spoon cut into it. The next thing he knew was Daryl taking the empty cup away from him and pushing the dishes aside.

Daryl had had enough. He couldn’t get the image of the naked, dripping wet Rick off his mind, and day by day this new _thing_ seemed less and less intimidating. The door in his mind was blown wide open, and the way his heart and body reacted to Rick didn’t freak him out anymore. He was all but certain he wasn’t alone with these feelings -- and if by some weird chance it turned out he was, Rick was still his _friend_ , and nothing could change that.

He brushed an errant lock of hair behind his ear, bit his lip, straightened his shoulders, and drilled his eyes on Rick’s. 

“Are we done with the waitin’ already? Ain’t gonna say nothin’ about dancin’ around ‘cause man, I don’t dance for shit. But I ain’t gonna get bit tomorrow an’ have the last thing on my mind to be that I never got to kiss ya, just ‘cause I was too chicken to say I want to. An’ if I’m wrong about this, then… forget I said anything, ok?”

He was a nervous wreck but his jaw was set, his eyes were stubborn, an’ by God he wouldn’t budge until this thing moved forward. Or backward. Whatever. He was just so done with not knowing for sure. 

Rick turned his whole body towards Daryl. He had that intense look on his face. Daryl couldn’t stop a shiver running through him. Rick’s eyes drifted down to his lips, then back up, and Daryl knew he was _so_ in over his head.

“You want to kiss me?” 

_Yes please. Yeah I kinda do. Good Lord yes! Dunno what I’m doin’ but I really wanna kiss ya, Rick._

But all that came out was, “Mmhm.”

Rick brought his hand on Daryl’s cheek and cupped his jaw. “I get to kiss you?” he said, and the wonder in his voice made Daryl’s head spin a little. It’d almost sounded like, y’know, Rick had been thinking about it, and-

Conscious thoughts fluttered away like dust because Rick’s mouth was so, so close and Daryl felt the other man’s breath on his lips and Rick’s mustache tickled his upper lip and he felt how Rick licked his own lips and then, oh, Rick pressed them on his mouth, and…

His heart beat so fast it almost hurt and Christ, none of the few half-assed drunken kisses from Before had prepared him for this….

Daryl’s mouth was a delicacy and Rick wanted to savor every bit of it, so he took his time, moved his mouth over Daryl’s just to get the feel of it, gently flicked his tongue over Daryl’s lips (did the man have any idea how fucking incredible his mouth was? how kissable those lips were? how many hours Rick had spent thinking what this would feel like?), and gasped when Daryl let him in. ‘Taking his time’ was pretty much a lost cause after that.

The air around them thrummed and it blurred Daryl’s mind as he sank his fingers in Rick’s curls; their tongues tangled and a jolt went straight to his cock. Daryl’s kissing skills were nothing to write home about, most likely, but goddamn he had a good teacher, and Daryl had always been real good with the learning-by-doing method. 

He pulled Rick even closer, and they somehow ended up lying on the floor, writhing and rutting against each other, a tangled mess of arms and legs and fingers and tongues. Rick stopped to pull his own shirts off and tugged at Daryl’s clothes as well, so the hunter followed suit. They had just enough presence of mind to pile the shirts on the floor so they had something to lie on.

They went on with the frenzied kissing but then Rick embarked on a roadtrip over Daryl’s body. He whimpered at the loss of Rick’s mouth on his but the leader’s fingernails raking over his stomach gave him new reasons for the whimpers. Rick grazed his teeth over Daryl’s neck, and the hunter bared his throat, eager for more, and the leader obliged, and Daryl was sure Rick’s hard kisses would leave a mark. 

_Don’t mind,_ he thought hazily, and moaned at the feel of Rick’s tongue as it laved its way down. He let out a low cry -- Rick had bit into his chest, just below his tattoo, and licked the bitemark, only to make Daryl’s whole body spasm with pleasure when he gave a firm suck on the hunter’s nipple.

“Jesus, Rick…” Daryl panted, barely getting a word out. He still had his fingers tangled in Rick’s hair so he tugged at it. The other man yielded easily, their lips met, and Daryl shifted, slow and inevitable, until it was Rick lying on his back and Daryl got his hands all over the older man’s gorgeous body. 

Now it was just a matter of deciding what he wanted the most. Problem was, he wanted it all. Rick’s mouth was heaven, he’d never thought kissing could be like this, he’d never thought locking lips with someone would also mean locking their souls together, and he kinda wanted to lose himself in that feeling and never find his way out.

But he also wanted to touch the man, touch everything he’d seen in the shower, feel Rick’s naked skin against his own, trace the lines of his muscles, kiss every bullet wound and knife scar, lick Rick’s nipples to see if they were as sensitive as his own, sink his fingers in the mass of black body hair around Rick’s perfect cock, wrap his fingers around that thick shaft (Christ, it was _thick…_ ), taste it, feel it inside of him in every way possible…

...and he wanted it all _right now_. He was starving for Rick, and he didn’t know where to even begin. 

Rick took his hand, brought it to his mouth and kissed the fingertips, swirled his tongue slowly around the tips. “Breathe, honey,” he whispered between the kisses. “You have any idea what I wanna do to you?” 

Rick’s eyes burnt, and for a second Daryl was terrified he’d come in his pants like a fuckin’ teenager, untouched an’ all, just ‘cause of how Rick _looked_ at him. Just ‘cause of what Rick _said_ to him.

He cleared his throat. “Probably the same kinda things I wanna do to ya.”

Rick chuckled, and bit lightly on Daryl’s thumb. “Good thing we’re on the same page.”

The short banter had calmed Daryl down just enough that he got his shit together. “Ya mind if I jerk ya off,” he said, or blurted out more like, and flushed at his own clumsiness. He’d have to work on the romantic crap -- the ‘erotic sex talk’ or some shit like that. _Rick must think I’m a goddamn oaf_ , he thought, miserable and certain his lack of even the most rudimentary finesse was a massive turn-off for the other man -- but he should’ve known better. He should’ve remembered that Rick _knew_ him, had known him for almost a few years now, had already seen him at his best and his worst, and apparently still wanted to be right here with him.

Rick gave another chuckle, a warm rumble that soothed the flush from Daryl’s cheeks. “I sure don’t mind at all.”

Daryl skimmed his fingers down to the waistband of Rick’s jeans. He sat up to work on the buckle and the button and the zipper, and tried to calm his breathing as he pushed down the pants. Rick had propped himself on his elbows, and lifted his hips a bit, and there he was, pants half-way down his thighs, and it probably looked a bit funny but Daryl had never felt less like laughing. He swiped his tongue over his lips -- swollen and slick from all the kissing -- and heard Rick’s stuttering gasp.

He glanced at the other man; Rick looked feverish and breathed hard. 

“Gotta say Daryl, you lickin’ your lips like that, staring at my dick… takes my mind to all sorts of places…”

 _Jesus.._. Daryl flexed his fingers and brushed the head of Rick’s hard cock. It twitched under the light touch, and a drop of precum slid down the shaft. Daryl collected it on his index finger, brought his hand to his mouth, and licked his finger. He heard Rick groan and turned to look at him, peered under his fringe, the fingertip still sucked in between his lips.

Rick had thrown his head back and squeezed his eyes shut. He seemed to feel Daryl’s gaze on him; he lifted his head and met the hunter’s eyes. They said nothing, Daryl didn’t _need_ Rick to say anything, it was all there in his eyes, so Daryl turned his attention back to Rick’s needy cock. It was hot, and hard, and heavy in his hand, and it responded to his touches, the strokes, the light brushes over the slit.

And holy crap, the rest of Rick responded to it all as well, with low moans and whimpers, with bucking hips, with fingers gripping his arm so hard Daryl knew they’d leave bruises. He watched the slide of the shaft, his fist going up and down the leaking cock. He was mesmerized by the vision, by a sense of accomplishment -- that he was making Rick feel this good, making him pant and writhe and tremble. And what this was doing to himself, oh fuck…

“Daryl.” Rick grunted his name, tugged at his arm, pulled him down to kiss. He mumbled in Daryl’s mouth, breathing so ragged Daryl just barely got the words. “Want to touch you, please, let me- oh, oh fuck!” Daryl had ran his hand down, cupped Rick’s sac and let his fingers venture even farther. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Daryl! Fuck! Please, I gotta touch you…”

Rick’s fingers trembled as he tried to pry Daryl’s buckle open. The hunter helped him ‘cause, come on, Rick was gonna touch his dick! Daryl had no idea how he managed not to come from that realization alone.

And then Rick wrapped his fingers around Daryl’s cock and drew him back for kisses and Daryl’s hand went straight back down to take care of Rick’s straining erection.

It wasn’t pretty. It wouldn’t’ve made much of a porn film. Writhing on a dusty floor, pants half-way down, hands trembling with too much pent-up lust -- there was no elegance, no script, no points for style. Instead, there was genuine passion, genuine flare in their eyes, genuine desire in their touches, genuine love and wonder in their voices when they cried out each other’s names when they came. So no, it wasn’t pretty.

It was beautiful. 

*

Rick swallowed with difficulty. He’d probably blacked out for a second there. Daryl’s messy hair tickled his nose; the hunter’s head was resting on Rick’s shoulder and his arm was thrown over Rick’s chest, heavy and relaxed. 

Rick caressed that arm, brushed back and forth, didn’t even think about it -- it just felt so fucking _lovely_ to finally be able to show this kind of tenderness to Daryl. The man deserved it all, and more, and Rick would do his best to give it to him, always.

The hunter sniffed and shifted a little.

“Didya call me honey?”

Rick huffed a short chuckle.

“Yeah, I did. What, you don’t like it?”

“Nah, ‘s good…”

The aborted thought hung in the air like a forlorn ghost. Rick waited patiently, but finally decided that a gentle push was in order.

“...but…?”

“Nah, no buts. ‘s just… back on that run...didya call me darlin’?”

Rick felt a smile tug at his mouth. “Yeah. Didn’t know you heard it, though. I’m sorry. Did it bother you?” He was threading his fingers through Daryl’s long locks and reveled in the mellow moment.

“Nuh...well, ok, it did. Had no fuckin’ idea what it _meant_. Thought I might’ve dreamed it. It’s just, there’d been all those li’l...things. Touches an’ stuff, y’know… An’ then ya called me darlin’. Didn’t know what to do with that, y’know. Felt weird, I mean _good_ weird.”

“Can I keep calling you honey an’ darling?” 

Daryl’s voice was amused. “Just don’t let Abe hear you call me honey. I’d never live it down.”

The hunter then raised his head and propped himself on his elbow. He gave Rick a long, thoughtful look. 

“This a thing now?”

Rick considered his answer. He ended up choosing the simplest possible reply -- it covered everything, so why complicate matters. He could serenade about the love he had for this man -- about how much _in love_ with him he was -- later. First things first.

“Yes.”

Daryl looked down but Rick could see the faint lines of a happy smile on his face.

“Ok.”

*

When they finally got up, cleaned themselves with water from the two bottles Rick had brought with him, got dressed, regained a reasonable amount of composure (and had a final slow kiss on the attic stairs), and descended the last steps to the hall, they saw most of their family lounging in the living room. Abe was obviously prepared to come take over the attic shift; holding his rifle, he leaned on the door frame and chatted with Carol and Rosita. Maggie and Glenn were playing cards with Carl and Beth. Tara sat on the couch with Michonne’s head in her lap and Judith napping on Michonne’s stomach. Eugene was settled comfortably in an armchair with a book. The others were somewhere else -- Tyreese at least still had his watch on the other side of the house. 

The men stepped by Abe into the living room, and that was it. A low whistle from Abe attracted everyone’s attention and they all looked up, curious to know what had happened.

 _Uh-oh._

_Oh well_ , Daryl shrugged his shoulders -- it didn’t take a genius to get the arch glint in Abe’s eyes. _Saves us the trouble of saying anything._

“I spy with my little eye... a fuckin’ huge hickey on someone’s neck!” Abe grinned like he’d won a lottery or something. That guy was weird sometimes, Daryl thought and rolled his eyes. The eye-roll in no way slowed Abe down.

“Someone has been marking his territory, hmmmmm? Or maybe both of them? I wonder where the other mark is,” chuckled Abe and waggled his eyebrows.

Daryl didn’t even blush; this was the new normal, and there was nothing to blush about normal. He let his gaze drift over his family. There were smiling faces, approving nods, a thumbs-up from Michonne, and a shrill whistle from Tara which -- as if by a miracle -- did not wake Judith up.

Rick put his arm around his shoulder and drew him close. He put on his sternest glare and looked at Abe.

“You just keep your imagination to yourself, mister.”

Abe burst out laughing. “That’s ok.” His raucous laughter turned into a smile. “Aww man, we’re happy you finally got your heads out of your asses--” Abe paused, and looked like he was furiously calculating whether he’d dare to go on a bawdy sidetrack, with comments on maybe getting some replacement stuff in those asses, and you could just _hear_ the struggle in his mind, when they heard a desperate groan from Carl. 

“Abe, come on, spare me, please… that’s my _dad…_ I ain’t gotta have that imagery in my brain! Can’t we just agree we’re happy for them, and that all they do and will ever do is give tiny pecks on cheeks, and leave it at that? An’ anyway, we’re playing here an’ I’m busy destroying these three losers so I don’t need no distractions…”

He paused to smirk to his dad and Daryl. “Seriously dad, I’m glad. An’ Daryl...you think I’m gonna call you dad, you got another thing coming…”

Daryl lifted a lazy eyebrow. “Big words from a runt like you, Carl,” he drawled, and he was happy to see Carl giggle at that -- the boy had a sound sense of humor. Carl’s reaction took a hefty load off his shoulders. He hadn’t seriously considered that Carl would hate him for being in a relationship with his dad, but you never knew, people could react in weird ways.

Carol cleared her throat. “I’ve stashed some teabags, for special occasions, y’know. An’ if Rick and Daryl having finally seen the light isn’t a special occasion, then I don’t know what is. What say we celebrate this with some Earl Grey?”

  
  


**_***** THE END *****_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all, folks! Thank you for reading, for clicking that kudos button, for commenting <3


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